Islander’s lament

The summer is over. The last of the stragglers has gotten on to the boat and headed for home. Some actually came for anonymity and peace rather than the show. Near do wells and don’t do wells, whatever sells.

Locals, natives and washashores alike praying for the next episode to rejoice or complain about. It becomes a way of life, learning to deal with the traffic of season. Nuances and old wances hoping for prices to fall along with the daylight hours of autumn. Maybe just a foray into lost youth and a chance to glimmer once again and bask in that relative light of afterglow.

Microcosms and macrocosms, life imitating art — some classic — few masters, some abstract, some sand painting, Yei Pi Che gone wild in the sweltering summer of a not-so-dry heat.

We cling to that which we hold most dearly, our families, for those that are fortunate enough to have them. Making every minute count, working hard at relaxation. Some souls lost to time and not able to be seen, but held forever in our hearts of summers past.

Take a long look back at this past year and reflect on those fragrances and smells, faces and expressions, frustrations and successes, and realize that now is the moment that leads to all time in the future. Many boats, many planes. Many cars, many miles. Home is where the heart is. If one has peace within their heart, no matter where they go they will always be in the same place.

No picture will ever capture those special moments that we hold in our mind’s eye, and we will not miss those at home, but rather wish that they were with us for that moment to share what mother earth is giving us. Perhaps we will take pause to receive it.